


i swear, i'll come back to you

by aatticsaltt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Genius Peter Parker, No Spoilers, Peter is a Little Shit, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sassy Peter, Temporary Character Death, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but theres no explicit death scene, teen bc i have terrible language and i feel like it'll eventually be teen anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-10-16 22:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20610083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aatticsaltt/pseuds/aatticsaltt
Summary: “Oh, hey Mr. Doctor Strange,” he said cheerfully, glad to see a familiar face. “Haven’t seen you since that whole dimensional portal under Brooklyn fiasco. How’s the magical destiny thing working out for you so far?”Strange raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Peter, fingers still lifted to point where Peter was left in suspended animation. He grinned, unabashed.“I didn’t miss your ramblings.”“That’s unfortunate. I love to talk. In fact, why don’t we do that right now? Number one, where the hell are we? Two, why am I here? Three,howam I here? Four—”(Permanent Hiatus)





	1. lost

**Author's Note:**

> I FINALLY RETURN. with a full-on chaptered fic. hhh here we go boys.... im literally shaking rn but its fine i'm fine. anxiety is cool.
> 
> enjoy? :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that a man has to say or do that can possibly concern mankind, is in some shape or other to tell the story of his love, — to sing; and, if he is fortunate and keeps alive, he will be forever in love. - Henry David Thoreau

**August 15, 2017**

“Spider-Man… what’s there to, uh, say that hasn’t already been said about him, right? A menace, a hero, a nuisance, a savior, however you saw him, there’s been about a thousand words that will never do him justice, but we’ll try our best anyway.

“Ah… he was a great kid — not kid. _ Man. _ In the name, Spider-Man.”

A brief pause for a breath that always came up a little too short. There was never enough air anymore, because the one person who Tony breathed for _ couldn’t. _

“Spider-Man was an amazing young man with a heart the size of seven suns. Before all of this, I used to joke that his heart was the best thing about our world, the best thing about _ my _ world in particular. Just never expected I’d still be around to see it stop beating.

“_Shit… _

“There is — _ was _ — a goodness in him I’ve never seen in anyone before. Not in Captain America, not in Thor, nor Hawkeye, nor Black Widow, not in any of the Avengers and most definitely not in myself. We all had our selfish reasons, one way or the other, of why we fought. Of why we kept putting on the suit and went out to save the world every time it needed our help. 

“Spider-Man, no. No, he went out and risked his neck because he _ could, _ because he saw people suffering and believed he had an obligation to help them because some dead spider messed with his DNA. Spider-Man was pure, and honest, and so damn _ good _ that you were scared one day that huge heart would break because no one could ever live up to everything he’d done for us.

“Spider-Man was, and always will be, a hero. He loved helping, he was always so eager to help that sometimes he was in the way, but was so damn earnest you couldn’t be mad at him, even when he exploded web fluid all over your multi-million dollar lab equipment. Brilliant kid, _ god, _ he would’ve been smarter than me in a few years — _ was _ smarter than me, always was. So, _ so _ bright, and always armed to the teeth with some smart-ass quip that made you smile…

“Spider-Man was the best of all of us. The best in this whole goddamn universe, and now, with him gone… the world’s a much darker place.

“He wouldn’t want us to mourn. And kid, it’s not happening. Every molecule, every atom, every quark and gluon on this Earth misses you. Every being who had a consciousness or not misses you, and we’re all going to mourn the loss of our littlest sun. But we’ll celebrate your life, too. Celebrate and carry on the legacy you began, because if anyone deserves their memory to be preserved, it’s you. It’s always been you.”

A sharp sniff, and a steadying breath when the words trembled with emotion. Tony looked skyward, and wondered if Peter could see him now.

“Rest easy, kid.”

* * *

**August (??), 2017 (??)**

Peter’s eyes flashed open to a world of pure white. He blinked, and the white became snow, glittering in a low street light as the flakes fell silently from above.

_ Oh, _ Peter thought, sluggishly, _ it’s beautiful. _

Then awareness rushed in with all the force of a tsunami with no answers to the _ what _ and the _ where_. Peter surged to a sitting position, head spinning as he greedily sucked in air that puffed out between his lips in clouds of frozen crystals. There was no one around, where he was, though Peter wasn’t sure exactly where _ here _ was to begin with.

It looked to be an abandoned gas station, if not for the occasionally flickering light over the bored cashier just inside the slightly-frosted door. To the right of the gas station was an old phone booth illuminated by the street lamp above. There was nothing else for miles around, save for towering trees that rustled ominously above with a breeze Peter couldn’t feel. 

“Okay,” Peter said slowly. “Straight out of a horror movie. Great. Love that for you, Parker.”

_ Where was he? _ Peter had most definitely never been to this gas station before in his life. And, for that matter, why is there a phone booth here? Peter thought those went out of style about twenty years ago, and were only for The Doctor, or hopeless romantics who were into that sort of vintage style romance. Peter's never seen the appeal, but with a painfully empty pocket where his cellphone usually inhabited, the phone booth was looking more and more tempting, even with no numbers in his head to call.

And then the cold set in. Bone-numbing cold, seeping through the thin jacket and jeans he wore. A sharp shiver tore through Peter as he scrambled, haltingly, to his feet and towards the gas station. The cashier called out a lazy hello as Peter staggered inside, and he nodded in her direction while he hurried to the corner furthest from the chilly door and windows.

“We’re fine,” Peter muttered to himself, shoving his hands under his arms in a vain attempt to warm his fingers. “Who’s we? I’m alone… well, there’s the cashier, but I don’t know her, we’re not a plural…”

On the TV, just above his head, that crackled every few seconds, the local news station was playing. 

“_In more recent news,_” the anchor said, “_people have been decorating town square, filled with the holiday spirit._”

Holiday spirit? Snow, in August? Even for New York, that was pushing it. That was _ way _ pushing it, and Peter’s fairly sure he didn’t teleport to Alaska, or something, but he supposed he couldn’t say one way or the other, because he doesn’t remember what he’d been doing before he wound up at the gas station. Peter couldn’t really remember much of anything, save for the date.

August 10, 2017.

Peter’s sixteenth birthday.

Okay, well, maybe not remembering anything was a bit of an exaggeration, but sue him, he’s nervous. Peter remembered waking up, he remembered his breakfast (waffles, topped by strawberries and whipped cream). He remembered sitting there, at the table, at home, talking to… talking to…

“_—helping with the relief efforts, Stark Industries has donated—_”

“Tony!”

The cashier startled as much as Peter did at his shout, eyeing him like he’d lost his damn mind, which he very well might have for all Peter knew. Hurrying to the counter, Peter skidded to a quick stop, bracing himself on the counter to keep from busting his ass on the slick floor.

“Do you have a phone?” he asked. “This is an emergency.”

“There’s a payphone outside,” she said tiredly. “Use that. Quarter for a call.”

“You don’t have a phone in here?” 

“Not one customers are allowed to use.” Peter opened his mouth to argue, but the icy look on her face quickly had his jaw clicking shut again. “Payphone. Outside. Quarter a call.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter grumbled, sliding away from the counter. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawled. After a pause, she jerked her head to the tip jar, where two quarters and a couple of dimes filled the bottom of the jar. “Take a few if you don’t have any.”

Peter patted down his pockets first, hesitant to take what little change the store had collected, and the right pocket of his jacket jingled joyfully. He grabbed the change out of his pocket, and stared down at the four quarters.

Four chances to call…

Hopefully Tony was in a mood to answer unknown numbers today.

“Right, uh,” he said, “thanks.”

“Yup,” she said, eyes trailing back to the television again. 

“_—rising crime rates worry police across the state of New York. Even the presence of the Avengers, who have been largely absent following last year’s tragedy, seems to be unable to deter the growing criminal underbelly—_”

The door chimes rang overhead, clattering over the announcers voice. Peter grit his teeth against the bitter chill outside and made a quick dash for the phonebooth. Inside, it was warmer, but only a little. Peter’s fingers still shook as he punched in the familiar number and slid in a quarter.

“Stark Secure Network,” an automated voice rang out before the phone truly even had a chance to dial. “Identification code?”

“S-P-one-D-three-R zero eight, ten, zero one,” Peter said. When Tony first told him the code, he’d laughed, and teased the man for giving him something so easy to remember. Now, with so few clear memories in his head, Peter was glad Tony had. “I want to speak to Mr. Stark.”

“I’m sorry,” the voice said, “but that code is invalid. Please call again.”

“Wait, wait wait!” A click. Peter groaned, head slumping forward to tap against the freezing metal phone. “Mr. Stark, if this is some kind of stupid prank or test…”

Okay, well, if he couldn’t get a hold of Tony directly, there was always Happy. Peter used up his second quarter, dread growing in his belly, and listened to the ringing until he was sent to voicemail.

“Hogan, leave a message,” Happy’s voice said.

Beep. Peter hung up out of sheer habit and immediately swore under his breath. _ What the hell, Parker? You’re an idiot. _

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he told himself, already redialing Happy’s number, almost hitting seven instead of eight because of how hard his fingers were shaking. “One more call, then we can… wait and figure this out.”

More ringing, and the same succinct message before the beep. Peter, thankfully, didn’t hang up this time.

“Happy! Hey, it’s me, Peter. Parker,” he said. “You know that. What other Peters call you, right? Well, um, I have no idea where I’m at and it’s freezing out here. Do you think you could call me back at this number? Or get Mr. Stark to? I only have one more quarter, so I’d appreciate you picking up—”

“Who the hell is this?”

Peter only barely kept himself from crushing the phone out of sheer shock at the sudden voice in his ear. 

“Um, it-it’s me, Happy. Peter?”

“Yeah, okay. Real funny joke, kid. Whoever put you up to this is a fucking comedian, I get it.”

What in the world…?

“What are you _ talking _ about, Happy?” Peter demanded, voice pitching a little higher with growing hysteria. “It’s _ Peter_. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, Underoos, uh — guy who snuck out of the hotel in Germany because you were too busy listening to Bach to keep an eye on me?”

Silence. Peter would’ve been convinced Happy hung up on him if the payphone’s ancient, digital clock didn’t tick painfully upwards with every passing second that Happy said absolutely nothing.

Finally, a choked, “_Peter?_”

“Yes! Yes, it’s me, Happy. Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you or Mr. Stark’s servers and why my code isn’t working, but I really could use some help here. I’ve no idea where I’m at, I don’t have my suit, and it’s cold as _ fuck__,_ so—”

“Okay, okay.” There was an unfamiliar waver in Happy’s voice, a tremble that made the hairs on Peter’s arms stand on end. “Look, I’ve got a trace on your location, just— just _ stay there, _ and we can figure something out.”

“Thanks, Happy, I—”

Peter fell.

Except he didn’t have anywhere to fall, he was in a phone booth with the earth securely beneath his feet, so he surely couldn’t be falling, but there was a distinct lack of gravity that made his belly swoop nauseatingly. He didn’t fall for long, though, barely longer than a breath of air, barely long enough for him to gasp before he slammed into gravity again. Peter gnashed his teeth against the stabbing pain lancing through his legs when he landed upright in an unfamiliar room. Despite how much it hurt to move, Peter ducked down to hide behind the nearest solid object.

In the phonebooth, a few hundred miles away, Happy’s voice demanded, “Hello? Peter? Peter, kid, answer me!”

“Are you going to hide behind the couch all day,” a voice asked, “or are we going to talk about this like adults?”

“You know, most people don’t consider sixteen year olds adults,” Peter retorted instantly, eyes darting about the room. His wrists were painfully bare, and he needed some sort of weapon to defend himself against whoever the hell brought him here. “Not that I’m opposed, but you really should check your math on that one.” 

A sigh. The stranger’s heart beat was steady. Peter’s tattooed his chest with every frantic, galloping beat.

_ I can use a couch for a weapon, right? _ Peter wondered. _ Umbrella holder works fine, but it’s a little far away. _

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the man said.

“Funny, I’ve heard that one before,” Peter replied, resolutely not moving an inch from his hiding spot, mostly because his legs still smarted from the rough landing. _ Bookshelf? No, that’s excessive, and such a waste of a good book__._ “What is it this time? World domination? Tristate Area domination? Gotta warn you against that one, a particular platypus is pretty good at knocking Doctor D down, I don’t think you’d be much more of a challenge.”

The man muttered under his breath so quietly Peter couldn’t make out the words, even with his enhanced hearing. He’s decently sure the guy was cussing Peter out, though.

“I don’t have the patience for this.”

Once again, gravity became meaningless, except this time Peter didn’t fall. (Small mercies.) A very dignified yelp escaped him as he was instead lifted off the ground, hovering in the air of what appeared to be a pretty standard living room. In a chair sat a man Peter was familiar with only by hazards of his chosen occupation.

Peter’s heart slowed down a beat or two.

“Oh, hey Mr. Doctor Strange,” he said cheerfully, glad to see a familiar face. “Haven’t seen you since that whole dimensional portal under Brooklyn fiasco. How’s the magical destiny thing working out for you so far?”

Strange raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Peter, fingers still lifted to point where Peter was left in suspended animation. He grinned, unabashed.

“I didn’t miss your ramblings.”

“That’s unfortunate. I love to talk. In fact, why don’t we do that right now? Number one, where the hell are we? Two, why am I here? Three, _ how _am I here? Four—”

Peter’s mouth screwed close, though not by his own free will. The magic force around him tightened, clicking his jaw shut with maybe just a little force than necessary.

“_Quiet,_” Strange said, and for as harsh as he spoke, Peter was very gently deposited in the chair opposite Strange, though his mouth stayed glued shut. “You’re here, in the New York Sanctum, because I brought you here, no other reason. Believe me, if I wasn’t concerned about the means of your return, I would’ve been happy to let Stark come collect you and save myself the trouble of listening to your inane blathering.”

_ Return? _ Where had Peter gone?

The confusion must’ve shown on Peter’s face, or maybe Strange actually did have a heart, but the fierceness on the man’s face ebbed away little by little. With it, the lock on his jaw released, and Peter gingerly rubbed at the tense muscles.

“Tell me,” Strange said, settling back in the seat not unlike what Peter imagined a psychiatrist would do, “what do you remember?”

“Uh, I remember eating breakfast with Mr. Stark at the compound because he’d invited May and I over for the week,” Peter rattled out, “I remember that it’s my birthday, and that it was definitely _ not _ snowing outside. I remember opening my presents — Mr. Stark got me a car, which I’m sort of terrified to drive, because the last time I drove a car, I totaled it — and then, uh, my memory’s a little fuzzy after that, but then I’m waking up in the middle of nowhere with a freaking _ phone booth, _a cranky gas station clerk, and four quarters in my pocket.”

“Interesting,” Strange said. The way he stared at Peter made him feel dissected, like he was nothing more than a puzzle to be put back together, though Peter’s not sure when his pieces got scrambled. “Whoever brought you back wanted you to be able to call someone…”

“Okay, okay, okay. What do you _ mean _ brought me back? I don’t remember going anywhere.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Peter frowned at Strange. “That’s extremely creepy. I’d prefer to have dinner before people start making ominous declarations like that.”

Strange’s lips twitched. “Hilarious.”

“I like to think so,” Peter said. “Except you’re way too old for me, so if you could withhold from the dark foreshadowing, that’d be great. I’m trying to save myself for marriage.”

The world spun in a blur of colors, and suddenly Peter was on his feet. He staggered, stomach protesting yet another violent change in positioning.

“What the hell?” he gasped. “Warn a guy next time!”

Peter froze. They stood before a grave. No, grave wasn’t the right term. It was a memorial. A monument built with a Spider-Man insignia over the wrought iron gates, illuminated by the arc reactor he remembered so well after seeing it stuck to his mentor’s chest at all hours of the day. Thousands of candles flickered along the base of the tomb, even in heavy snow, with offerings (pictures, food, stuffed animals, flowers) strewn throughout.

“What?” he repeated, softly, stepping closer to pick up one of the artworks that had missed the falling snow. A doodle of Peter, of Spider-Man, was there, so obviously drawn by a little child, with scraggly letters spelling out ‘_I miss you_’. “Is this an illusion?”

“No,” Strange said, oddly quiet, eyes turned up to watch the glowing insignia. “One year, four months, and nine days ago, your body was buried here. You died on your sixteenth birthday during a battle with Doctor Octavius.”

“You’re crazy!” _ Dead? _ Peter hadn’t died, there was no way. Otherwise he wouldn’t be _ standing here__,_ staring up at what was so obviously a mistake. “I’m not dead. I couldn’t have died, you can’t just— people don’t come back to life!”

“Then why didn’t Stark pick up? Why did his bodyguard think you were a fraud? Why can’t you remember past the morning of your birthday?” All the wind punched out of Peter’s lungs. “I examined your body myself. You died, and now you’re standing in front of me.”

Peter’s legs wobbled. The snow was cold, when he slumped into the powdery embrace, though he could hardly feel the chill over the hot rush of shock swimming through his limbs. He stared at the picture in his hands, at the drawing of Spider-Man; stared at it until his eyes burned, and—

_ I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. _

“Oh my god,” he wheezed. Peter couldn’t breathe; Peter was unsure his lungs remembered how to anymore. “Oh my _ god_.”

Died — Peter died. Should he remember? Did he want to? Strange said he was fighting Octavius, one of his strongest enemies, and Peter’s mind strained to remember even though his heart hadn’t decided he really wanted to. All his mind pulled up was blank images, feelings with no place to go. 

A year. _ Over _ a year. A year, four months, and fourteen days ago, Peter lost his life. His junior year of high school, his seventeenth birthday, gone in a blink, flushed down the drain because one man’s ambition grew too large for Peter to contain it. Peter had died, and he was never meant to come back.

“Prove it,” Peter demanded, clutching the child’s drawing, clutching his last remaining line to sanity. “Prove to me I died!”

Strange sighed, a sort of sad resignation. Peter’s head swam with irritation. In Strange’s pocket, a phone rang. “You are all the proof you need.”

What in the hell is that even supposed to mean? Doesn’t he realize Peter can’t remember, doesn’t really want to remember dying?! On instinct, his mouth opened to bite out a scathing retort, before the heat of shock became _ pain__,_ resonating out from the center of his chest. Peter glanced down, and saw with no small amount of horror, a growing waterfall of red from his sternum.

“Oh my god,” he said again.

The world went black.

* * *

People say he let himself go. Tony didn’t let himself go. There was nothing to let go of anymore. Peter took every bit of Tony into an early grave. One year, four months and fourteen days doesn’t change that, a _ lifetime _ wouldn’t change that, because Peter was his lifetime. Peter was Tony’s legacy, his prodigy, his _ son, _ his one thing he did right. 

And Peter is gone.

And so Tony is gone, too.

Tony stays in body but not in soul. He stays because people expect things of him still. Pepper expects him to get up in the morning, brush his teeth, eat a balanced breakfast and sign papers until his fingers are numb because work has always been Pepper’s means of coping. Rhodey expects him to get up in the morning, brush his teeth, eat a balanced breakfast and work out his body because physical action had always been Rhodey’s means of coping. Tony doesn’t expect anything of himself. He waits to die.

Life, as always, stubbornly kept him alive.

It must be penance for Peter. A never ending torment of living in a world that spun without the one thing Tony loved the most.

Once, what Tony loved most had been Rhodey, and Rhodey was all a fourteen year old Tony needed at MIT, but then he grew older, got more jaded, drank too much and partied too hard, and fell hopelessly in love with Pepper even though it took him a cave in Afghanistan to figure it all out. Tony thought he’d checked all the boxes, filled his heart with so much love for his tiny family that they’re all he would ever need — Happy, Rhodey, Pepper. The Avengers came and went, but they were the three constants he relied on to stay sane.

And then enter Peter Benjamin Parker, with his bright eyes and quicker smile, who looked at Tony like he’d hung the moon and the stars. Peter Parker barged into his life with reckless abandon and before Tony knew it, he was swept up in a mirage of colors and sounds and memories Tony had never been allowed to make. He was caught up in a whirlwind of stitching up a reckless teenage boy with a heart the size of Jupiter, to videoing the entirety of a high school decathlon match because Tony loved the way Peter smiled when he got a question right.

The love for Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy never diminished, but Tony’s love for Peter was all-consuming. A light so bright it drowned out all other emotions until Tony was swimming within the golden rays, not even bothering to resurface because he’d happily spend eternity loving Peter Parker.

And then the light vanished. The light became a void, a black hole where the sun once burned inside of him. A giant, gaping wound that ripped through him when this selfish, selfish world killed the one purely selfless person left. Octavius killed Peter and left Tony to bury his body away in a shrine to forever memorialize his son.

And the world spun on.

To Tony, it might as well have stopped. He’d rather it had.

“Tony,” Pepper’s voice said, her hand warm on his arm, and Tony blinked out of the stupor he’d fallen into. “Tony, are you paying attention?”

“Yes, of course,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pen he’d never clicked. “Although, I wouldn’t mind a refresher. Just to clarify, you know, make sure I have all the numbers written down properly.”

The board members sighed wearily. Tony ignored them. Pepper was the only reason he was here — was one of the ever-dwindling reasons Tony still made the effort to get up in the mornings and haul his corpse to work every day and listen to meaningless people drone on with meaningless words about meaningless business mumbo-jumbo. Because Pepper expected him to get up in the morning, brush his teeth, eat a balanced breakfast and sign papers until his fingers are numb because work had always been Pepper’s means of coping. 

Tony worked. He doesn’t cope.

Still, Pepper is patient. The day was only getting started, barely ten AM, and she hadn’t lost her temper with his inability to focus yet.

“We’re thinking about raising the controlling interest,” Pepper explained. “For a while now, the stock prices have been wildly unstable, due to circumstance,” read, _ Tony’s emotionally unstable,_ and no one knows what he’s going to do next, “so we’re looking to minimize blowout in the case of another drop.”

Numbers rise, numbers fall. Tony didn’t see the point in worrying anymore.

“Sounds great,” he said instead. “You’re the CEO, not me. Raise or lower it however you want — take it off the market completely for all I care. Privately owned company, not a bad idea, all things considered—”

The door slammed open. Years of ingrained instincts had Tony’s hand flying up to blast the threat, only for his hand to be completely barren of any gauntlet. Probably for the best, because it was Happy who stood in the doorway looking stricken.

“What?” Tony demanded, and Happy’s mouth gaped wordlessly. “Jesus, spit it out if you’re gonna try and scare the devil out of us like that, come on.”

“It’s Peter.” Tony flinched away from the name and bittersweet memories that rose like bile in his throat. “Boss, it’s _ him_, he just called me.”

“From where? Valhalla?” Tony spat. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this, but Peter’s _ gone_, Hap, he can’t call you.” 

Happy shook his head. “No, he called me. Phone call from way upstate on a goddamn phone booth, probably one of the last working ones. Boss, I _ swear _ it was his voice. He knew about the web,” their code word for Spider-Man, because even in death, Tony respected Peter’s secret identity, “and he knew about what happened in the hotel in Germany.”

The pen groaned in Tony’s brutal grip. His eyes danced to Pepper, and she nodded.

“Go.”

Tony was out of the chair before he could blink. He grabbed Happy by the elbow and hauled him into the hallway, heading straight for his workshop without a second thought. FRIDAY opened the elevator, and Tony all but shoved Happy in.

“Explain,” he demanded.

“I know this sounds crazy,” Happy said, fumbling a little with his phone, “but you have to listen to this message.”

A pause as Happy’s fingers tapped against his phone screen. FRIDAY started the elevator down to the lowest floor of the compound. Pepper had moved the board meetings out to the compound because not even Pepper could convince Tony it was worth leaving New York. He’ll make the drive from the cabin to the compound, but leaving New York, leaving the place Peter loved so dearly, was out of the question.

Then, from the speaker on Happy’s phone, “_Happy! Hey, it’s me, Peter. Parker. You know that. What other Peters call you, right? Well, um, I have no idea where I’m at and it’s freezing out here. Do you think you could call me back at this number? Or get Mr. Stark to? I only have one more quarter, so I’d appreciate you picking up—_”

Tony snatched the phone out of his friend’s hand, and pressed the play button again. The elevator doors opened. Happy led him out into the lab and sat him on his favorite stool. Tony didn’t notice.

“_Happy! Hey, it’s me, Peter. Parker. You know that. What other Peters call you, right?_”

The words blurred together. Tony wondered how sound could be muddled by the tears in his eyes as he listened to the cadence of Peter’s voice. It washed over him in waves, warm and familiar and everything Tony thought he’d lost forever. 

“_Happy! Hey, it’s me, Peter. Parker._”

It’s you. It’s always been you.

“Shit,” Tony croaked, shoving the back of his free hand against his burning eyes. “_Shit. _ When was this call?”

“Five minutes ago, boss,” Happy told him. “Not even.”

“Five minutes,” Tony repeated, “and you didn’t keep him on the phone, why, exactly?”

The look on Happy’s face, that suggested he thought Tony was about to blast him into next Tuesday, didn’t bode well. “Well, he vanished.”

_ Vanished. _

Even dead, Peter still found ways to drive Tony up the fucking wall.

“Vanished,” Tony deadpanned. Panic churned in his chest and sent his heart racing toward dangerous speeds. “So a dead kid calls you, sounds like Peter, knew he was Spider-Man and knew what happened in Germany that only Peter would know, then vanishes.”

Happy stared wordlessly at him. Tony sighed, and scrubbed at the tightness in his left arm mindlessly. His heart squeezed, and he wondered where his arc reactor was. On the phone still in his hand, he pressed the play button again on the voicemail.

“_Happy! Hey, it’s me, Peter. Parker._”

(“You know you don’t have to tell me your last name every time you call,” Tony had told Peter. “I’m well aware of who you are.”

“But what if another Peter tries to call you?” Peter had retorted, grinning when Tony playfully mused his curls. “I have to distinguish myself somehow, Mr. Stark.”)

“Hey, FRI, be a doll and get me the location of this phone booth. Load it into Mark eighty-one. I want an ETA under two minutes.”

“_Right away,_” FRIDAY said. Tony handed Happy his phone back, rising from his seat. Happy held a weak protest; Tony hadn’t touched the suits in a year, was this really the time? Tony ignored him. The suit opened up, and Tony climbed in without hesitation. “_Hold on tight, boss._”

The ceiling opened up, and Tony rocketed out seconds later. His teeth rattled with the speed, and he blinked away dark spots when FRIDAY kicked the speed up another Mach because Tony still wasn’t moving fast enough. It was _ that day _ all over again, racing against the ticking clock, racing against a slowing heart beat, but he _ wouldn’t _ lost Peter this time, wouldn’t let him go without Tony being there, dammit. Couldn’t, wouldn’t, refused to, not _ fucking _ happening.

Snow billowed out in every direction when Tony slammed to the ground in front of an old gas station with the lone payphone out front. A trail of footsteps led to the phonebooth from the gas station, but there were no trails leading out. Inside the booth, the phone dangled limply to the floor, and he could make out the faint, echoing dialing tone humming from inside.

“Sentry mode,” Tony commanded as he stepped out of the suit. Inside the gas station, the cashier’s eyes widened, quickly glancing between him and the suit outside. “Yes, I’m Iron Man. Amazing, I know. Listen, I’m on a bit of a time crunch, here. Can you answer a few questions?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” she stammered, standing up a little straighter. “How can I help you?”

“Anyone been here in the last ten minutes?”

“Yeah, some guy. He’s been the only one.”

One guy. That made it easy, though was unsurprising, given the remote location. Tony glanced around as if he’d somehow spot a sign of Peter inside the store.

“Can I get a description?”

The cashier’s lips pursed in thought. “Well, about my height. Curly brown hair, brown eyes. Earnest dude. Kinda annoying though, because he doesn’t like to take no as an answer.”

Tony squeezed his eyes against a suffocating wave of irritation. The cashier’s job was not to profile every person walking through the door, and as much as Tony wished she could tell him something more specific than _ brown hair, brown eyes, stubborn__,_ he couldn’t lash out against her. 

_ Breathe, Tony. You’re chasing a ghost. _

“Look, you got cameras?” he asked. “This is important, Avenger business. I need to know who was in here.”

“Oh, well, I mean,” she stammered, shyly meeting his eyes. The look on Tony’s face evidently made her quickly reconsider telling him no, and she turned the screen to her right outwards for Tony to see properly. “Here, I’ll rewind it.”

“Thanks.”

Tony stepped up closer to the counter, eyes trained to the grainy screens as the cashier rewound to about ten minutes ago. The entire store was vacant, save for the cashier, for a moment or two, before a severely underdressed kid stumbled into the store, making a beeline for the corner furthest from the door. Tony pretended for the sake of his own sanity that the curly hair wasn’t familiar, and the grainy face wasn’t terrifyingly similar to his son’s.

Not too long after he entered, the figure barged up to the desk to talk to the cashier.

“Demanded to use our phone,” the cashier told Tony matter-of-factly. “Got fussy when I said it wasn’t for customers to use, but I guess he really didn’t cause too much issue. He went outside,” in the video, the not-Peter stepped out into the snow, “and never came back in.”

She went to set the video back to regular time, but Tony stole away the mouse before she could grab it. He ignored her protests, watching not-Peter step into the phone booth and dial three different times. 

In his head, he heard on repeat, “_Happy! Hey, it’s me. Peter. Parker._”

Peter Parker. Peter Parker. Peter, pause, Parker, because he had to distinguish himself from the other Peters who never called Tony.

Then, between one blink and the next, not-Peter vanished from the phone booth like he’d never existed at all. Tony rewound the feed a few seconds. He watched again and again, straining to see how the kid was vanishing into thin air. It was nearly impossible, with the grainy quality of the video feed and how far away the phone booth was.

At the last moment, Tony saw it.

Not-Peter wasn’t _ vanishing__._ He was falling. Falling straight down into a golden ring Tony unfortunately knew all too well.

“Son of a _ bitch,_” he swore. Tony didn’t stop to say goodbye or thanks to the cashier, running out to the suit and stepping back up. The metal encased him, and he blasted back towards New York at the same tooth-jarring speed. “FRIDAY, call Strange. I think it’s high time we made a house call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love em dashes. idk if u can tell.
> 
> I swear this story,,, will get good. I hope. idk man, I'm having fun tho, so that's all that matters. I might be throwing myself head-long into this, but I have a general plot I wanna get out.
> 
> pls pls comment I love to hear from y'all and it motivates me a lot!!!!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://aatticsaltt.tumblr.com/). I mean, if you want.


	2. bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this. ― Henry David Thoreau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bitch im back...  
barely  
college sucks, but I suck more
> 
> enjoy? :)

**August 9, 2017**

**Peter Parker**

hey

hey

hey

hey

mr stark

its peter.

parker.

idk if youve saved my number or anything

**Tony Stark**

Shockingly, I had your number and thus your name saved in my phone, but thank you for the reminder.

What’s up, kid?

**Peter Parker**

o, wow, tony stark has my number saved in his phone

i mean, its been a few months since you gave me your number

or wow, almost a year

but yeah i mean its pretty crazy bc im sure u have more important numbers than mine

saved… in ur phone

**Tony Stark**

Peter.

**Peter Parker**

yeah?

**Tony Stark**

Focus.

**Peter Parker**

focus on what

**Tony Stark**

What did you text me for?

Or are you just blowing up my phone for the fun of it? Because if that’s the case, kid, we’re going to have to renegotiate you having my personal number.

**Peter Parker**

oh ya! sorry i got excited lol

**Tony Stark**

I can tell.

So what’s up?

**Peter Parker**

well im still coming over to the compound, right?

are you picking me up today??

or having happy pick me up?

**Tony Stark**

No, kid, I’m going to make you walk all the way to the compound.

**Peter Parker**

oh, ok

**Tony Stark**

My god, it was a joke. 

Yes, you’re coming over to the compound after you’re let out of nerd school.

Happy’s picking up your aunt after she gets off work at the hospital.

**Peter Parker**

wait whos gonna pick me up then?

may doesnt get off until 5 but thats a rly long drive back and forth for happy

**Tony Stark**

Shockingly, I am capable of driving to pick you up.

**Peter Parker**

ur picking me up?????

**Tony Stark**

That is how driving to pick you up works, yes.

I can feel the impending explosion of notifications, direct it to Fred’s phone.

**Peter Parker**

ned

**Tony Stark**

That’s what I said.

**Peter Parker**

thats so crazy tho!! i cant believe youre picking me up

youve never personally picked me up

**Tony Stark**

Not everyday that your local Spider-Kid turns sixteen.

**Peter Parker**

:D

thanks mr stark!

its really cool youre letting us come over for the weekend

ik aunt may is super excited to take tomorrow & friday off work

she also is hoping to see thor but dont let her know i told you that

**Tony Stark**

My lips are sealed.

So, which car does the birthday boy want?

I’m rather partial to the Audi with the Spider-Man rims.

**Peter Parker**

you didnt

**Tony Stark**

I did.

**Peter Parker**

noooo mr starkkkkk what the hell

youre ridiculous!

**Tony Stark**

Branding is important.

Besides, the Iron Man rims were too gaudy.

**Peter Parker**

you literally have a gucci toilet i dont wanna hear about iron man rims being gaudy

**Tony Stark**

The Gucci Smart Toilet doesn’t have gold plating along the tread.

I mean, what’s even the point of that?

Break once and it flakes off.

**Peter Parker**

…

point taken.

but srsly, no dont drive that car

drive literally any other car

im begging you

**Tony Stark**

Why, are you embarrassed your nerd friends will see?

No one besides Ted knows you’re Spider-Man.

**Peter Parker**

ned

**Tony Stark**

That’s what I said.

**Peter Parker**

no its really not

**Tony Stark**

I’ve already grabbed the keys, kid.

It’s too late.

It’s already in motion.

**Peter Parker**

well put it out of motion!

**Tony Stark**

You pissed me off.

**Peter Parker**

omg i cant believe u knew that reference.

**Tony Stark**

I quite literally am a tech genius, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m hip. I’m in with the lingo of all you whipper-snappers.

**Peter Parker**

im gonna bleach my eyes out

thank you for that

**Tony Stark**

Big oof.

**Peter Parker**

ughhh

no

stop

pls mr stark

**Tony Stark**

Mood.

Bet.

Tea.

**Peter Parker**

youre being purposefully horrible

**Tony Stark**

Horrible legally cannot define me.

**Peter Parker**

what are u gonna do?

arrest me?

**Tony Stark**

I have connections.

No one would ever know.

You’d simply disappear under mysterious circumstances.

**Peter Parker**

ok that sounds like a bad crime tv show episode where the wife kills her husband and pretends to be innocent

and says he disappeared under “mysterious circumstances”

and then the will comes through, and she tries to kill the obscure person her husband left all his money to, who is usually a woman much younger than his wife

so the girl has to go into hiding but ends up helping the detectives solve the case

even though it was super obvious since the start that it was the wife because she dresses like cruella de vil

and in the young lady prevails with all the money and estate while the wife is then taken to jail

**Tony Stark**

Are you planning on murdering me and stealing my money?

**Peter Parker**

no!!

if anything youd be the one poisoning me

but i dont have a whole lot of money anyway so

**Tony Stark**

I’m not gonna poison you, Pete.

**Peter Parker**

oh good thats a relief

i dont think itd be a fun way to go

**Tony Stark**

It’s actually pretty painless.

**Peter Parker**

i dont like that you know that.

it was such an immediate reply

do you have smthn to tell me mr stark

**Tony Stark**

Nothing you can connect to me.

**Peter Parker**

>:000000

**Tony Stark**

Still completely joking.

Maybe.

Guess you’ll never know.

**Peter Parker**

new conspiracy theory: mr stark is a secret agent who poisons people in the name of justice

**Tony Stark**

Somehow, I doubt that’s a new conspiracy theory.

There are so many conspiracy theories revolving around me, I’m starting to doubt some things about myself.

**Peter Parker**

ppfff

dont listen to them mr stark

be true to yourself

**Tony Stark**

Oh my god, do not drag me into a high school drama narrative.

I’m not a blushing teenage girl who calls herself edgy because she paints her nails black.

Speaking of high school, aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?

**Peter Parker**

maybe so.

technically i am in class

im just multitasking

**Tony Stark**

Pay attention, Peter.

**Peter Parker**

not my fault you took so long to respond initially!

besides when tony stark texts you, u text back

**Tony Stark**

Very true. Otherwise I might send a suit out to make sure you’re not bleeding out in an alleyway.

**Peter Parker**

ye of little faith

**Tony Stark**

I’m of the faith where we believe Peter Parker is a magnet for danger, and if there is an attack of some sort, will somehow be involved and usually the most injured.

**Peter Parker**

fair but still,

ye of little faith

id at least call you before passing out if i was bleeding out in an alleyway

**Tony Stark**

How thoughtful of you.

**Peter Parker**

i try my best

**Tony Stark**

Pay attention.

**Peter Parker**

you pay attention

**Tony Stark**

To what? The sky?

I’m not the one enrolled in high school.

**Peter Parker**

miss potts said you try to use me as an excuse to not pay attention in meetings

**Tony Stark**

Miss Potts is a pathological liar, and you should never listen to her when she says things like that.

Actually, when did you even talk to her? I don’t like you talking to my fiancée behind my back.

**Peter Parker**

guess youll never know :)

**Tony Stark**

My own words, turned against me.

**Peter Parker**

technically theyre not your words

you didnt invent the english language

**Tony Stark**

You know what, I’m going to get it patented now.

Just because you said they’re not my words.

**Peter Parker**

omg

why

rich people rly are on a whole other level

**Tony Stark**

You brought this on yourself, Pete.

Twenty bucks for every time you say, “Guess you’ll never know.”

I’m pulling an Anish Kapoor on your ass.

**Peter Parker**

do i wanna know who that is

**Tony Stark**

No, he’s an asshole.

**Peter Parker**

ok good to know

if i ever come across an anish kapoor i will know to avoid him

**Tony Stark**

Probably for the best. 

He doesn’t deserve to know you.

Seriously though kid, pay attention in class.

**Peter Parker**

its just calculus

its super boring

and easy

i dont need to pay attention

**Tony Stark**

Speaking of, why the hell are you already in school?

I thought school started late August, not the beginning.

**Peter Parker**

the school system hates us… 

but we also get out like, mid/early may now, so i’m not too upset

**Tony Stark**

It’s a trick.

They’re trying to make summer sound longer, but all they’re doing is fast-forwarding the inevitable.

**Peter Parker**

yah, but like,

mid-may sounds better than mid-june

**Tony Stark**

Touché.

Still awful.

Now, I actually need to pay attention.

Little did you know because you’re an actual baby, texting and driving is illegal.

**Peter Parker**

oh yeah

okay

dont do that

pls be safe

dont drive more than ten miles over the speed limit

**Tony Stark**

You’re taking all the fun out of driving.

**Peter Parker**

our definitions of “fun while driving” are very different

**Tony Stark**

I’ll stay within 25 miles. How does that sound?

**Peter Parker**

still terrifying.

**Tony Stark**

I’ll be there faster, though. 

Can start celebrating your sweet sixteenth even earlier.

**Peter Parker**

you getting here faster doesnt get me out of school any quicker

**Tony Stark**

As far as you know.

**Peter Parker**

???

**Tony Stark**

Ciao, kid. See you in an hour.

**Peter Parker**

oh my god what

* * *

“_Peter Parker to the front office please. Peter Parker to the front office._”

Every head in the room swiveled to look at Peter when the announcement came over the intercom. Flash looked delighted by the news, probably thinking Peter was in trouble. Peter shrank into his seat and sorta wanted to die on the spot.

_ Dammit, Mr. Stark... _

“Go ahead and grab your things, Mr. Parker,” Ms. Warren said, gesturing to his bag on the floor. 

“Yes ma’am,” Peter said. He grabbed his backpack and stuffed his laptop in before hopping to his feet and hightailing it out of the room and away from Flash’s victorious gaze. In the empty hallway, he groaned. “It’s not too late to run, Peter… Mr. Stark probably doesn’t have his suit. That’s enough time to get a decent head start, right?”

For as much as he whined, Peter’s feet still carried him to the front office. Through the frosted glass, Peter could easily make out the familiar broad shoulders and dark hair. Inside, Tony was chatting up one of the receptionists. 

Peter pretended he couldn’t hear her heart racing.

“—yeah, great school, I donate a lot to the science department—”

“—oh, well thank you so much, Mr. Stark—”

“—please, it’s Tony.” Peter pushed the door open, and Tony turned on his heels to face Peter. “Oh, there he is. Man of the hour.” 

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” Peter said wearily. Peter was more than a little suspicious of his mentor, who was smiling a bit too much to not be up to something. “What are you doing here?”

“Busting you out,” Tony said. “You could at least look a little grateful. Lord, kids these days. I would’ve died of happiness on the spot if someone got me out of high school for the day. Can you believe this?”

Tony shook his head incredulously. The receptionist sighed wistfully, way too focused on Tony Stark being in her office to be bothered by listening to what he was actually saying or give any sort of intelligent reply. Peter wondered how his life had come to this.

_ Doesn’t this lady realize Tony is literally engaged to Pepper Potts? _The New York Times rated Couple of The Year for several years in a row now? Yeesh… Peter had thought common decency would be a little more, you know, common.

“Um, last I checked, you were the one telling me to pay more attention in class,” Peter said.

“Semantics. Come on, Pete,” Tony said, tossing an arm around Peter’s shoulders. He glanced over at the receptionist. “We’re all good in here, right? We’re good. Great, thanks.”

“Have a wonderful day, Mr. Stark,” the receptionist said, apparently having remembered words, just in the nick of time. “Hope you feel better, Peter!”

Peter gave her a thin-lipped smile, and waited until they were outside and the doors clicked shut behind them to speak again. “You told her I was _ sick? _ Really? I haven’t been sick since I got bit by the spider over a year ago.”

“Due time, then,” Tony pointed out. He led Peter down towards the car with, yup, Spider-Man rims. Lovely. The earth couldn’t swallow him whole fast enough. “High school is festering with germs, it’d be more suspicious if you didn’t get sick.”

“Isn’t you pulling me out of school kind of illegal?” Peter asked instead. “Since you’re not my legal guardian?”

“May made me one of your emergency contacts. Plus, I’m Tony Stark. Are they really gonna tell me no?”

“They should’ve,” Peter grumbled. “I can’t believe May made you one of my emergency contacts. Did she even okay you getting me out of school early?”

Tony groaned. His arm dropped from around Peter’s shoulders when they reached the car, and Peter tossed his backpack into the backseat of the convertible.

“Kid, you’re killing me,” Tony said, taking off his sunglasses and waving them about dramatically. Well, that was a resounding _ no _on the permission. Somehow, Peter couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered. “This is supposed to be a fun outing. Breaking the cycle of shame, celebrating your birthday early. I’d have pulled you out for the whole week if I didn’t think your aunt would actually murder me in my sleep.”

Peter failed to bite back a smile as he climbed into the passenger seat of the car. “Nah, May wouldn’t murder you in your sleep,” he said. “She’d just poison your food.”

Tony rounded the car to get into the driver’s seat, sliding his sunglasses back on with a grin he tried to hide behind his hand but Peter still spotted. “May wouldn’t have to even put any poisons in the food. Her walnut date loaf could kill a grown elephant with one bite.”

The engine purred to life with a single push of a button. Excitement burst in Peter’s belly, because even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud and stroke Tony’s ego, Peter was really happy to spend the day with his mentor. _ We should do this more often… _

Well, maybe not on a school day. Aunt May really would kill them both if Peter missed too many days of school. Especially if Tony was the cause behind it. Even if she humored them most of the time, Peter knew May still wasn’t all that fond of Tony, and definitely not once she’d found out Tony made Peter’s Spider-Man suit.

“May’s cooking isn’t _ that _ bad,” Peter said.

“Pete, I appreciate you trying to defend your aunt,” Tony said, “very cute, but out of all the things I’ve put in my mouth, that loaf was by far the worst on a very long list of terrible things.”

Peter wrinkled up his nose at the insinuation. “I don’t even want to know all the things you _ have _ put in your mouth.”

“No, you don’t.” Throwing the car in reverse, Tony eased back out of his parking spot and back out onto the street. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t tell you. Young, innocent ears and all.”

“These young, innocent ears can pick up on the subtext, you know.” 

Seriously, Peter went to public high school. Peter heard things he never wanted to hear in his life in the halls of Midtown Tech. Magnet schools were always the worst, because half the kids had been homeschooled before and were only now discovering other people their age knew about sexuality, too.

Changing the subject before his mentor could respond, Peter asked, “So are we going to the compound now?”

“Yes,” Tony said, “no. Pit-stop first. Hungry spider-babies need to be fed. What’s that place you always talk about, the one with the really squished down sandwiches? Delmar’s?”

What’s that? Tears in Peter’s eyes? No way, you’re seeing things. Peter’s eyes are definitely not watering over a sandwich.

(Fun fact: yes, they are. Tony picked him up before the lunch bell rang, and Peter was teetering towards the side of ravenous.)

“Oh my god, Mr. Stark,” Peter groaned, “you’re the best!”

“I thought I was horrible.”

“Don’t ruin this, we’re having a moment.”

Another one of those hidden smiles flashed across Tony’s face, quickly covered by a sharp sniff. Tony readjusted his glasses, and pressed on the gas a little harder, edging the car a little faster towards Delmar’s. Peter grinned, wide and open, completely unabashed.

“Alright, kid. I’m the best.”

“Damn straight.”

* * *

**August 10, 2017**

Peter was still in sleep. Were it not for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, Tony would worry he was dead. For a kid who never seemed to stop moving, it was always jarring to see Peter asleep.

When Tony took a spot on the too-big bed beside the too-small bundle, Peter inched out of his tight ball, searching out the source of heat like the little leech he was. Tony sniffed and chewed on his cheek to keep from smiling. The kid’s curls were soft when Tony scratched his fingers through them. Peter sighed, stretching out, fingers flexing and curling around the first bit of fabric of Tony’s shirt they found.

“Up and at ‘em, Underoos,” Tony whispered. “Happy birthday.”

“Birthday,” Peter mumbled in response, sleep-addled brain latching onto the first word it comprehended. Tony’s chest ached. He told himself it was the nine-year old scars giving him grief. “‘s my birthday?”

“It is,” Tony said. “Sixteen years old. Practically middle-aged.”

“You must be ancient, then,” Peter retorted, peeking one baby brown eye open. Tony huffed, feigning hurt just to see the smile on Peter’s face.

“Watch it, kid,” Tony groused. “I’m not above taking back your presents.”

_ Yes, I am, _ Tony’s heart screamed.

_ Whipped_, Pepper’s voice said in his head. _ He’s got you absolutely wrapped around his little finger. _

Somehow, Tony was okay with that.

Peter huffed a laugh. He pushed his face into the pillow, legs unwinding from the pillow trapped between and stretching out under the covers. Tony resisted the powerful urge to grab one of Peter’s toes as they flexed out by Tony’s thighs and say something mortifyingly embarrassing like _ this little piggy went to market. _

Tony wrapped one of Peter’s curls around his finger instead and smoothed his thumb along the strands. His chest ached again, fiercer this time, but Tony didn’t mind. Tony didn’t mind a lot of things, if it was for Peter.

“What’s for breakfast?” Peter asked, some of the grogginess in his voice melting away as he officially woke up for the day. “Waffles?”

“What else?” Tony pulled his hand away from Peter’s unbearably soft hair and lightly smacked a hand on Peter’s thigh as he stood. “Come on, get up. Too much to do today for you to waste it all in bed.”

Peter groaned. “But it’s _ my _birthday.”

“_My _ day to spoil you,” Tony said. “Don’t be selfish, Mr. Parker.”

“You’re the one being selfish.”

“Ah-ah, no arguing. Come on, kid. Hot Aunt and waffles with strawberries and whipped cream are waiting.”

Peter’s head popped up from his pillow in interest. All those curls haloed around Peter’s head with the light peeking in through the windows behind the kid’s bed. Tony resisted another urge to call him the cutest prairie dog he’d ever seen.

“Strawberries _ and _ whipped cream?” Peter repeated. “Really?”

“Only the best for my Underoos,” Tony promised. “We had to get cherries for Pepper, though. She’s—”

“Allergic. Yeah, I know.”

Tony eyed Peter suspiciously as the kid climbed out of bed. Peter was oblivious, yawning a few times too many as he went on his search for clean clothes to wear.

“How did you know that?” Tony asked. “I really don’t like the thought you’re talking to Pepper without my knowing.”

“Yours isn’t the only number I have, you know,” Peter said. He sniffed a shirt, grimaced, and tossed it into the laundry basket. Tony took a step away from the laundry basket. Tony had smelled many a sweaty teenager shirt in his own teenage days, and had no desire to repeat that experience any time soon. “Pepper texts me, too.”

“My number _ should _be the only one you have,” Tony grumbled, already planning to have a talk with Pepper about stealing away his kid’s attention. “Anyway, get dressed. Five minutes or I’m eating all your waffles.”

Tony laughed at the look of deep betrayal all the way down the hallway. Peter poked his head out the door to shout, “It’s not funny!” But it was. It was absolutely hilarious.

* * *

Presents were fun. Peter threw a fit about receiving sixteen presents, expensive ones at that, but Tony waved off every single one of his concerns. It was Peter’s birthday, the price didn’t bother Tony (or his wallet) in the slightest. Besides, Tony knew his kid, and Peter couldn’t quite hide the smile on his face when he pulled out the custom-made Stark camera Tony had spent a few days slaving over.

“What do we say to Tony?” May asked. She was leaning over the edge of the seat Peter was sitting in, playing with his hair with an unbearably fond smile on her face. 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbled. “You really didn’t have to, though.”

“Oh, I know,” Tony said. “I wanted to. Now, next present, Underoos.”

Peter looked up with something akin to horror and Tony bit down on his cheek viciously to keep from laughing. “There’s _ more?_”

Giving Peter the car was especially entertaining. 

The look on Peter’s face when Tony tossed the keys into sticky hands suggested Peter would rather die than get into the car. Tony forced him to take it for a spin, just around the compound, and only somewhat regretted it when Peter attempted to give him whiplash by hitting the gas too hard and proceeding to slam his foot on the brake immediately after when the car lurched forward.

“Sorry,” Peter said immediately, miserably, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Driving lessons,” Tony said after he’d pried his fingers out of the leather upholstery and blinked the dizziness away. “You’re getting them. Starting tomorrow. No excuses.”

May accused Tony of spoiling Peter, though he could hardly see the issue with that. As far as Tony was concerned, the kid deserved to be spoiled every now and again. Especially for his birthday. 

“Sixteen years old,” May said, shaking her head. “God, he’s getting so old.”

“Old?” Tony echoed. “Kid’s barely out of nappies.”

May laughed. “You didn’t know Peter when he was in nappies. If you did, you’d probably share the sentiment.”

Tony seriously doubted he would.

Pepper and Rhodey joined them for lunch. Peter practically begged for selfies with Rhodey to prove he met War Machine, which Tony was obligated to photobomb, and it ended up being something akin to a family photo session where everyone rotated taking pictures of the birthday boy.

“Speaking of, Pepper,” Tony said, fixing his fiancée with an accusatory stare. “What are you doing texting my kid behind my back?”

“He’s not _ your _ kid, Tony,” Pepper deadpanned. _ Yes he is, _ Tony mentally shouted in retaliation. _ He’s mine. _ “Besides, someone has to help keep his head on straight. Lord help him with you hovering around him so much. He might develop a complex.”

“I gave him my number, too,” Rhodey chimed in. Tony turned on his best friend, betrayed. “Someone has to give him all the embarrassing photos of you when you were a teenager.”

“Platypus, you wouldn’t dare,” Tony said. 

“Too late!” Peter crowed, holding up his phone victoriously. Tony lunged to grab the kid’s phone from him, but Peter easily darted out of the way and up the wall, dangling his phone teasingly out of Tony’s reach. “Ya snooze, ya lose, Mr. Stark.”

“FRIDAY, get me one of my suits,” Tony growled. Peter’s face went white.

If anyone questioned seeing Iron Man chasing Spider-Man around the compound at top speed while Spidey cackled like a maniac, no one said anything at all. Though, admittedly, that might have been because of Pepper Potts’ ferocious glare by the time Tony had finally caught Spider-Man when Peter’d let his guard slip just enough for Tony to latch on.

Peter was allowed to keep the pictures.

Tony was given the task of cleaning up all the webs swaying in the breeze around the compound. May and Peter, in the meantime while Tony slaved away cleaning, had a private family celebration. No one mentioned their damp eyes when they all gathered in the living room again.

They went out for dinner. An Italian restaurant, one of the fancy ones in uptown New York that had May balking at the price, but Tony hardly blinked at, because it was his kid’s birthday and he’d pay any price if it meant Peter was happy.

Tony did find it ironic Peter chose the one type of food Tony could actually make to go out to eat, but what Peter wanted, Peter got. Even if Tony thinks his nonna’s sauce is better than anything the restaurant could serve them. (Admittedly, it was still damn good sauce, but Tony is biased.) On the other hand, Peter seemed to enjoy his endless lasagna, so Tony supposed he didn’t have anything to complain about.

At the very least, Tony didn’t have to be the one attempting to cook enough food to keep up with Peter’s voracious appetite. One of the waiters looked deeply concerned when Peter tore into his fifth dish and covertly scooted a trash can closer in the event all the lasagna came back up.

It didn’t.

Ned joined them for dinner that evening, though he wouldn’t be coming to spend the night with them until Friday after school. Tony had no jurisdiction to pull him out of school for the day, otherwise he’d have pulled Ned out Wednesday, too, so he could spend the weekend with Peter. 

Having the kid’s best friend with them was fun, though. Two years ago, Tony would’ve balked at spending the day with two teenagers, but Ned was a good kid, just like Peter. The best part was Ned’s hero worship of Tony still hadn’t faded and he looked horrified whenever Peter said something particularly daring to Tony. 

“Dude,” Ned whispered after Peter sassed Tony for about the tenth time in a row, “it’s Tony Stark…”

Peter immediately said, “So?” and Tony loved the kid a little bit more.

Tony immediately pretended he hadn’t thought about the L-Word.

The L-Word was a little too intense for Tony. When Tony loved someone, when he allowed himself the luxury, whoever he loved wound up hurt. They hurt, they left, they died. Peter couldn’t be any one of those inevitabilities. Tony didn’t love Peter; he was fond of him. Fond of the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he looked at Tony and saw only the best in him, and inspired Tony to be a better man than he ever thought he was capable of being.

It wasn’t love, though. Tony didn’t love Peter. Tony was fond of Peter, and it’s all he could ever be, because Tony could never deserve this kid.

“Oh, hey,” Peter said. They’d just dropped Ned off after diner, and were stuck in traffic at the edge of the city. Peter had pulled out his phone a while ago, and was scrolling through Twitter, legs tossed over the sides of Tony’s chair. “There’s a new headline. Something’s happening at Time Square.”

“FRIDAY?” Tony asked. “What have you got, hon?”

FRIDAY was quiet for a moment, before she replied, “_Reports suggest a man with four mechanical arms is in Time Square. He is not causing any trouble, but seems to be growing more agitated._”

Peter perked up, sitting up properly in his seat. “Doc Ock?”

“Peter, no,” Tony said instantly, knowing exactly what his kid was thinking. “It’s your birthday. Let me call a suit, FRIDAY can handle this guy easy.”

“Mr. Stark, if Doc Ock is in Time Square, he’s waiting for me,” Peter insisted. He was already shrugging off his suit jacket Tony had wrangled him into for all the pictures they took over dinner. “It’ll be fine. Fifteen minutes, max. I’ve dealt with Doc before.”

“I dunno, Pete, this is bold,” May said. “Going to Time Square…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said. His confident, cheery smile disappeared behind the Iron Spider mask, his eyes illuminating the dark confines of the car. “See you in a few. Don’t wait up for me!”

Tony watched Peter slide out the back seat and shoot a web out. His figure vanished into the dark skyline, headed straight for Time Square. Tony tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and his arms sang with tension.

“FRIDAY, keep a suit at the ready,” Tony said. “Contact Karen. I want updates every minute.”

“_Yes, boss._”

Pepper, in the passenger seat, reached out to press a gentle hand to Tony’s arm. Her thumb soothed little circles into his wrist, and Tony focused on the sensation of her familiar touch to calm his palpitating heart. Fifteen minutes… it would be fine. Fifteen minutes, and his kid would be back in the car, safe and sound, chattering on and on about the fight, brushing off Tony’s worried nagging like he always did.

Fifteen minutes.

It took less than ten for Peter to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all thought they'd reunite this chapter. hahahahahahahahahahahah
> 
> I love you guys. i swear, they'll reunite soon. (is that a play on the title? guess you'll never know.) (double play on the chapter?)
> 
> also formatting the text messages made me want to die lowkey ugh
> 
> my obsession with em dashes prevails yet again
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://aatticsaltt.tumblr.com/). I mean, if you want.


	3. found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the truth was, it shouldn't be so easy to be amazing. Then everything would be. It's the things you fight for and struggle with before earning that have the greatest worth. When something's difficult to come by, you'll do that much more to make sure it's even harder — if not impossible — to lose. ― Sarah Dessen, Along for the Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deviated from Henry David Thoreau quotes... probably will go back shortly.
> 
> also wow, what's this?? me updating super fast?? ahahahahah
> 
> enjoy? :)

**August 28, 2017**

The world spun. Tony wondered why. People laughed. Tony wondered how. Tony breathed. He wanted to stop. Tony lived. He wished he didn’t.

They said (though Tony couldn’t tell you who _ they _ were, and why _ they _ had any control over his emotions) losing a child was a pain so terrible there was no name for the feelings churning inside of him. Tony thinks there are a few words that could supplement the lack thereof: agony, anguish, and ceaseless torment; outrage, wrath, and burning fury; absolute fucking _ hell. _ The deepest, fiery pits of hell come alive on earth inside of him.

They called him bereaved instead. A bereaved parent; a father with a piece of him ripped out of this world. Tony didn’t deserve to be given such a title; Tony wasn’t Peter’s dad. He was just a guy who fell too deeply in love for a kid too close to godliness to be his own. 

Peter was good. Peter was kind.

Peter died because Tony loved him. Because when Tony let himself love, when he allowed himself the luxury of caring for someone else, they wound up hurt. They hurt, they left, they died. Peter was never supposed to be one of those inevitabilities, but he was gone. Gone, ripped away from Tony in less than ten minutes no matter how fast he flew.

It was all Tony’s fault, and he was so fucking sorry.

Or, he supposed, not entirely his own fault. There was still the man, _ Doc Ock, _who killed his child. Doctor Otto Octavius, driven mad by his machinery and slowly crippling body. Otto Octavius, who saw Spider-Man as the last obstacle in his path, and sought to overcome him with everything he had.

And won.

Tony was a sore loser.

FRIDAY was tracking every known network on the planet. Tony even tapped into EDITH’s system, sending out stealth drones across North America to find Octavius. The screens surrounded Tony from all angles, and Tony kept his eyes trained to the ever-narrowing locations, thumb running along the rim of the glass of whiskey he hadn’t tasted.

The temptation was there, because when life got hard, Tony had always turned to alcohol. Tony had always turned to alcohol and Pepper, but Pepper was working herself down to nothing at SI, and alcohol never left. It was a constant demon haunting the corner of his mind, waiting for Tony to slip a little further. To lift the glass and take the first sip, then wake up over a toilet because he couldn’t stop once he’d had a taste. But Tony couldn’t bring himself to drink because Peter would’ve been furious with him if he’d let himself drink again.

Instead, Tony tasted revenge. Tony knew Peter would have also been furious with Tony for stooping so low, but the temptation was too great to curb, and he’d already taken the first sip.

_ You took everything from me, and I’m going to watch you burn. _

When EDITH located Octavius, Tony didn’t hesitate to climb into his suit. Didn’t stop to think about what Peter might’ve thought or said if he’d seen Tony hunting down Octavius like a man crazed. The coordinates were locked in, and the game of cat and mouse whittled down to seconds as the man tried to escape into the forests. Tony didn’t let him, wouldn’t let him escape justice. Tony made him scream, made him suffer all the agony he’d inflicted upon Tony when he ripped his son out of the world.

It’s what he deserved. Octavius deserved it. Deserved it for ripping away the best thing in their world, in Tony’s world. Deserved it for making them cry and mourn a life that was too young to have been lost.

“You took him on his birthday,” Tony’d snarled; the sound was inhuman, and he scarcely recognized himself anymore. “_My _ kid. You killed my kid on his fucking birthday.”

He left the body deep within the ocean with a gaping hole over the sternum. A mirroring final blow, a watery grave. 

Revenge was bitter-sweet. It did nothing to soothe the ache of Peter’s absence, but he was disgustingly satisfied with himself. Tony went home after watching Octavius sink away into the murky depths of the ocean, dumped the whiskey down the sink, and cried.

* * *

**December 24th, 2018**

He couldn’t think beyond the pain.

“Stop,” Peter begged. “_Stop._”

They didn’t stop. The hands kept touching, grabbing, yanking his arms and legs back down with a deafening clang when he tried to get away. His chest throbbed.

“Can you hold him down?” a female voice demanded. “I can’t work with him fighting me!”

“I’m trying,” another voice snapped back. “He’s a lot stronger than he looks.”

“Aren’t you fucking magical? Use magic!”

Peter’s arms slammed against something solid beneath him. Trapped, oh, god he was trapped. Claustrophobia swarmed in like maggots crawling under his skin. When the hands touched his chest, Peter screamed.

“Jesus, this is insane,” the woman said. “His whole sternum...”

“_Christine, focus,_” the man ground out. “He’s dying again.”

“I know, I know. I’m _ trying._”

In the background, a phone rang. Peter spat out blood, jerking uselessly in his bonds to get away from the pain. Stop… stop, make it stop… 

“Can you turn that damn phone off?”

“I have, it’s Stark.” _ Stark. _ Tony. Tony. Tony. “He’ll push the call through regardless.”

Something in his chest crunched as the hands grabbed and twisted and pulled and stabbed. He might have screamed again. Peter really couldn’t tell.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped around the boiling, bubbling blood in his throat, “Mr. Stark… help me…”

The world spun violently. Peter turned his head to the side and vomited. Someone jumped back and cursed colorfully. Peter didn’t care.

“_Help me…_”

The female, Christine, he thinks, shouted his name. Peter didn’t listen. Everything faded into oblivion.

* * *

_There’s a body on the pavement. Peter moved towards the body as though he were gliding through water. His feet don't touch the ground. Still, he moved. _

_ People were all around. Faceless bodies that crowded around Time Square. Their mouths moved. They don’t make a sound. Peter’s ears rang in the deafening silence. _

_ The body was wearing a Spider-Man costume, Peter noticed as he got closer. A body wearing a Spider-Man costume sprawled across the pavement, laying in a puddle of dark blood. Peter’s stomach clenched the closer he got to the body — his own body, why try to deny it to himself when the evidence was so clear? — before he hit some sort of an invisible wall, keeping him stubbornly six feet away no matter what angle he tried. _

_ Moments later, an Iron Man suit slammed down next to his body, shaking the earth with sheer impact. Tony stumbled out of the suit, face frighteningly pale. He dropped beside Peter’s body and ghosted a hand over Peter’s chest, afraid to touch the prone body before him. _

_ His lips moved. Peter couldn’t hear no matter how hard he strained his ears, but he could see what Tony was saying. _

_ “Peter,” Tony said, pleaded, cupping Peter’s masked cheeks in his hands, thumbs pressing against his skin to try and get Peter to notice. Peter’s own cheeks tingled with a ghost of sensation. “Peter, open your eyes.” _

_ “I’m right here,” Peter cried, pounding his hands against the wall to try and catch his mentor’s attention. “Mr. Stark, look at me! I’m right here!” _

_ “Peter, please,” Tony begged instead of looking at him. “Come on, bud, all you gotta do is open your eyes. Okay? Just, just look at me. That’s an order, kid. Hey…” Tony’s shoulders shook. “Please. Please, don’t do this to me. Not you. Peter, please.” _

_ All the strength snapped from Tony’s body. His head slumped to press against Peter’s forehead, clinging desperately to Peter’s soulless body. When his lips moved again, Peter couldn’t quite make out the whispered words, try as he might to see. _

_ Rather, all Peter could do was watch, horrified, as his mentor scooped his lifeless body up and cradled him to his chest, tucking Peter’s covered face into his neck and smoothing a hand along his face. A tear fell down Tony’s cheek, hitting Peter’s bloody chest, and then the dam was broken. Tony’s whole body wracked with sobs Peter couldn’t hear, grasping Peter’s dead body in a white-knuckled grip. _

_ “I’m sorry, god, Peter. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” _

_ “It’s not your fault,” Peter said, desperate for his mentor to hear him. “It’s not, Mr. Stark. It wasn’t your fault.” _

_The world dissolved. Peter hurtled backward, away from his dead body and crying mentor. Images and colors flashed by in a blur, bursts of light and sound exploding in his head before he was roughly deposited before the tomb Strange had taken him to, reeling with the sudden lack of piercing noise. It wasn’t snowing at the tomb this time. No, it was almost painfully bright, the sun glaring down from high above. _

_ Tony was there. He was alone. The arc reactor was in his hands, and a ladder leading up to the insignia was beside him. _

_ For a while, Tony stood still, staring. Staring at the insignia as though it had answers to all the questions Peter could see burning in his eyes. Tony sighed eventually and climbed the ladder. In the little slot behind the insignia, Tony slid the arc reactor in, and clicked the Spider-Man insignia back into place. _

_ “Watch over him, FRI,” Tony said in that horribly mute way. “God knows I can’t be trusted to.” Tony’s face twisted with agony, fingers looping through the insignia and holding fast. “Peter… Pete, you took my whole heart, bud. Keep it safe for me, okay? Wherever you are, you got all of me.” _

_ “Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled miserably. “Mr. Stark, I’m sorry.” _

_ Peter was yanked away quicker this time. He thought, if he could vomit, he would. Peter came to the funeral next, his funeral. Thousands upon thousands of faceless people gathered in front of the stage that Tony stood upon, giving a eulogy that Peter is sure would be beautiful, could he hear at all. _

_ Right at the end, Tony looked skyward, and Peter jumped. Tony was staring straight at him, right into Peter’s soul, and his non-existent heart leapt for joy. _

_ Could he see…? _

_ “Rest easy, kid,” Tony said instead, and Peter’s small blooming of hope was mercilessly crushed. It wasn’t that Tony was looking at him, no. He was staring straight through Peter. _

_ His mentor’s eyes went glassy with tears Peter knew he wouldn’t share with the thousands surrounding him. With his head still tilted up, Tony whispered, so faintly Peter could barely see his lips move, “I miss you.” _

_ “Mr. Stark,” Peter breathed. A tear slid hot down Peter’s face, and more followed in quick succession. They fell to Tony’s face and vanished before they ever touched his mentor’s skin. “Mr. Stark, please, see me. Please, I’m alive. Just look at me!” _

_ The world melted away again and Peter grit his teeth against the ever mounting nausea as he was hurtled through space. This time, he didn’t slow down. Peter spun past scenes of the previous year, so fast he could barely see what was happening before the void ripped him away again. _

_ Peter saw May, alone, weeping over a nondescript headstone with his name written in the stone. Peter’s headstone was placed next to Ben’s. He saw the Avengers, even Captain America, pay respects at his tomb. Peter saw Ned and MJ sitting alone in the cafeteria, picking at their food more so than eating it. Pepper worked. Rhodey worked out. Happy pretended he didn’t cry. _

_ God… this was all Peter’s fault. Peter’s fault his family was grieving. The monster of guilt crawled through his veins like a wildfire, eating away at Peter until all that was left was sorrow. _

_ (It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.) _

_ “I’m sorry,” he gasped, burying his face in his hands, desperately curling away from the noise and the lights and the misery. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be better, I’ll do better, I swear. I’ll listen to Mr. Stark next time, just please, stop this! _ ** _Stop!_**_"_

_ And then, finished with him, the void spat him out. Peter listed to the side, disoriented by the lack of movement. Peter blinked the stars out of his eyes, and took a deep breath. Once again, he found himself in front of his grave. (What kind of shitty-ass motif is this anyway?) _

_ Peter wasn’t alone. Before the wrought-iron gates was a figure. Peter said figure because he really couldn’t tell anything beyond that they were potentially human. Or he hoped so, anyway. Kinda freaky to come across an alien, or… entity, of some sort, in memories that had previously belonged to only his loved ones. Black smoke curled around the figure, billowing out in waves, sending a chill down Peter’s spine when the smoke brushed along his bare toes. _

_ The figure shifted, moved a little closer to the tomb. Inside the grave, through the resounding silence that had permeated every vision he’d seen, Peter heard a heartbeat stutter back to life. It took Peter a moment to understand he was witnessing his own resurrection, and that this figure was the one who brought him back against all odds. _

_ “Who…?” _

_ Peter flinched when the black mass turned to face him. Faceless, bodiless, nothing but a cloud of smoke. Peter could only tell the mass was looking at him by the way his spidey-sense screamed, shoving at his consciousness and telling him to _ run, _ but Peter was paralyzed by fear, paralyzed by the dark emptiness that stared him down. _

_ “Enough,” the figure snapped, cold as the clouds that drifted around it. A hand slammed into his chest, and Peter stumbled back into his body. _

* * *

Peter surged off the table with a wet gasp. Christine braced an arm over his shoulders, urging him back down to the damp table as he wheezed desperately for air. He went willingly, if only because he had absolutely zero control over any bodily functions.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she whispered, “I got you, it’s okay. Breathe, Peter. You’re alright.”

Alright… alright, he was alright. Peter didn’t know what that meant, but he relaxed with the words anyway. His eyes shut as his head slumped against the cool table. Peter focused on the steady drip-drip of the IV bag, and the heavier slosh of a nearly-empty blood bag, relieved to hear sounds beside his own miserable sobbing and the screaming void again.

“There you go,” she encouraged, brushing a hand against his forehead to move away all his errant curls. “Easy does it. You’re still pretty banged up, but you’ll be okay.”

“‘m banged up?” Peter asked once his lungs stopped fluttering in his chest and remembered how to process oxygen properly again. “Why ‘m I banged up? Don’t remember fighting anyone.”

Christine paused, adjusted the heart-rate monitor on his finger that had been knocked askew, then said, “The fight was a long time ago, you wouldn’t remember it.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Makes sense.”

No it didn’t. Nothing made sense. Peter supposed it was fairly normal for his life. He could stick to walls and arm-wrestle the Hulk. A little amnesia really shouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibilities.

“How do you feel, Peter?” Christine asked, drawing Peter back to the present. “Any pain?”

“My chest fuckin’ hurts,” Peter grumbled, and Christine smiled prettily at him, amused. Peter tried to smile back, unsure of how successful he really was. “But, um. I’m alive, so that’s an improvement.”

“Yes, it is. Honestly, you should count yourself lucky your super-healing kicked in, otherwise I don’t think I could’ve operated on you fast enough to save you. Thankfully, you’d originally died of blood loss, not impact.”

“Who-hoo.”

Slowly, Peter lifted his head up off the table with a herculean amount of effort. His vision swam as his brain adjusted to the new position. When his vision cleared, he saw a deep angry red line straight up his sternum, held together by a dozen or more stitches and covered by a clear, see-through bandage. Peter feathered his fingers along the wound, dizzy with how massive the cut was.

“What happened?” he asked. Christine batted his hand away from his chest, and Peter flopped back against the table. “What happened to me?”

“When you were… fighting,” she explained, “you took a hit straight to your sternum. The impact didn’t kill you, because of your mutated genes, but there’s only so much your mutation can do for you when you lose over half your blood in two minutes.”

“So this is what killed me?” 

The look on Christine’s face was answer enough. Peter exhaled sharply, looking up to the ceiling to keep the stinging tears at bay. Peter really had almost died again, almost lost the fight for life when he’d barely been given a second chance. Was where he was the afterlife? Forced to watch his family suffer because of his stupid mistakes, or was that the inbetween? 

Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to remember or let his mind have a peaceful void for the answers no one’s really ready to know.

“You’ll have to take it easy for a while,” Christine said, “even with your advanced healing. Even if it was the blood loss that killed you, the wound wasn’t far behind.”

“Gotcha, doc,” Peter said immediately. “Taking it easy, I can do that. No problem, kinda been meaning to take a vacation anyway, you know—”

A voice cut him off. The words were indistinct, but it wasn’t what they were saying that mattered, not really. It’s that Peter _ knew _ the voice, longed for it always, had screamed for the owner of said voice to _ see me, Mr. Stark, I’m alive! _Peter turned his head toward the sound instinctively, seeking out his mentor.

At first, Peter saw nothing. Then the walls around them shifted, glinted with an array of sunlight bouncing off a mirror that didn’t truly exist. Peter’s brows furrowed. The voices cut through again, still muddled, still underwater, distant. Painfully far away, and Peter was getting so _ sick _ of all these invisible walls.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Christine hesitated again. “We’re in the mirror dimension, or a pocket of it,” she explained. “Stephen put us here when Stark arrived.”

“Why?” Peter demanded, sitting up on his elbows instantly, irritation overriding the pain. Christine gently nudged his shoulder to lay back down, but Peter didn’t comply this time. “Mr. Stark thinks I’m _ dead, _ he has to see me! Why is Strange hiding me?”

“Peter,” Christine said, pleading, “we don’t know how you’re back. Someone could’ve brought you back for a nefarious purpose, and—”

“And nothing! I’m still me, I’m not going to hurt anyone, you're the one hurting Mr. Stark by keeping me locked up in here!”

Christine flinched back. Peter felt bad for raising his voice, but he’d spent the better part of god-knows-how-long trapped behind stupid fucking invisible walls, trapped where his family couldn’t reach him, and he was so tired of it. Peter pushed himself up further, ignoring the screaming pain in his chest, and stumbled closer to the edge of their pocket dimension, using the IV stand as a brace.

At first, the images were unclear, but the closer Peter was, the more he could see of their normal world. The voices became clearer as Strange and Tony flickered in and out of view, the mirrors constantly shifting and reflecting back different images to Peter.

“Cut the bullshit, Strange,” Tony spat. Peter was relieved to see Tony didn’t look all that much different, save for more grey stuff in his hair, and dark spots along his cheeks which had never been there before. Tony looked _ tired, _ though. Tired, and old. Peter’s chest ached. “I saw the video. I saw your stupid little portal.”

“What I am doing is of little consequence to you,” Strange retorted. “As you can see, we’re the only ones here.”

_ Bullshit! I’m right here! _ Peter pressed his hand to the mirrors, aching for his mentor, and the dimension wobbled under the unfamiliar, foreign touch. Christine fretted close behind.

“I’ve been here for hours, now,” Tony said, “I don’t care how long it takes, or how many goddamn times you portal me away. Let me see the kid.”

“I’ll tell you as I’ve told you for hours now,” Strange said, “there is no kid.”

“Let me see the kid,” Tony insisted.

“There is no kid.”

“Horseshit. Let me see the kid.”

“There is no kid. Now, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You have no jurisdiction here, and frankly, I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

“Jesus, fucking—” Tony ran a hand through his hair, his breath coming in short, whistly gasps Peter could hear even through the mirrored wall trapping him away from his mentor. Tony’s voice raised to a shout, warped with barely-concealed anxiety, “_Show me the fucking kid! _ Show me the kid, and I can get out of your hair and back to my fucking monotonous existence. Just let me _ see the kid _ — and don’t you _ dare _ say that you don’t know who I’m talking about, I know you have someone here — and I’ll leave.”

Strange’s lips thinned. Peter said, “Fuck this.”

Strange had shoved them into a mirror dimension. A pocket dimension which was unstable on its own because it wasn’t a _ true _ piece of the dimension, just an imitation. An imitation of mirrors. And mirrors can be broken.

Christine yelped when Peter slammed his fist against the wall the first time, hovering to his side, grabbing his shoulders, trying to urge him away but Peter was unmovable as a mountain. _ I’m coming, Mr. Stark. I’m coming. _

“Peter, please,” Christine pleaded when Peter pulled the needles out of his skin. His head swam, but the determination and sheer stubbornness overrode everything else. “You’re injured, you can’t be pushing yourself like this.”

“I’m getting to Tony,” Peter snapped and reeled back again. “I’m sick,” his fist slammed against the mirrors, and the wall trembled, fractured, “of these stupid,” another crunch, and the spider-web of broken glass spread, “fucking,” almost there; Peter’s fist dripped with blood, “walls!”

The mirror dimension exploded around them into an array of rainbows. The fragments glistened in the late afternoon light, vanishing as they bounced to the floor with tiny pops, not unlike a bubble when it bursts. Strange and Tony’s heads spun to face Peter and Christine and the hospital gurney that had appeared out of nowhere to them, various shades of shock written on their faces.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped, and Tony’s face spasmed with a mirage of emotions, “Mr. Stark, it’s me, it’s me, I’m here, I’m so sorry.”

* * *

The first hysterical thought that popped into Tony’s head was _ god, get this kid a shirt, _ and then it was utter nonsense as his brain whirled, desperately trying to comprehend the sight before him. 

Peter. Peter was there, Peter was there with a stitched up sternum and a bloody hand. A stranger stood behind him, gentle hands braced on Peter’s shoulders, keeping him upright more than his own legs did.

_ Mr. Stark, it’s me, it’s me, I’m here, I’m so sorry. _

The sun exploded in Tony’s chest. He bathed in the golden light, burning with the sheer force of adoration slamming into him. Tony stumbled forward with his arms partially outstretched, desperate to touch and so damn scared that Peter would vanish the moment he touched the kid, not even listening to the words Peter was rambling on and on. Tony let the sound of Peter’s voice wash over him, grateful to even hear it at all.

“Hold me, kid,” Tony gasped over Peter’s frantic rambling, “hold me.”

Peter didn’t vanish when Tony touched him. The kid was warm and solid as Tony pulled him into a hug. He smelled distinctly like _ Peter, _ and Tony’s eyes burned, because he’d long forgotten the familiar, lingering scent which had once permeated every part of the compound. 

Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter. Peter Parker. The kid’s name tattooed itself on Tony’s ribcage with every frantic, joyful beat. _ Peter. Peter. Peter. _

“Oh,” Peter said, arms slowly wrapping around Tony in return. “Oh, this is nice.”

Tony huffed a pained laugh, squeezing Peter a little closer. Peter’s skin was painfully soft under his fingertips, and Tony could feel every breath expanding Peter’s chest. Tony could feel the faint pulse jumping under the kid’s skin where Tony’s fingers dug in, so painfully, beautifully alive that Tony felt like screaming to the world _ he’s here! He’s alive! My beautiful, brilliant, bouncing baby boy! _

Tony dropped a kiss under Peter’s ear without thinking. The lady and Strange didn’t matter anymore, _ nothing _ mattered but the warm body in his hands. Warm, alive, breathing, heart-beating a familiar tempo, humming with the energy Peter never let go until he’d been a cold body on the concrete. All of what mattered in the world was in Tony’s arms again, and he was never letting Peter go.

Tony would sooner die.

“Sorry I missed those driving lessons,” Peter mumbled.

A broken half-laugh, half-sob huffed out of Tony, because of course the first thing Peter does is make him laugh. Tony’s fingers curled through Peter’s hair, scratching along his scalp.

“It’s fine, kiddie, we can start them tomorrow.”

“I’ll make sure to be there this time.”

“You better.”

Tomorrow. For the first time in a year, Tony had hope for the future again. Looked forward to the sun rising in the morning because Peter could finally see the sunrise. Tomorrow was a beautiful word.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, his voice pained, “this kinda hurts.”

Instantly, Tony pulled back. The wound on Peter’s chest took a whole new precedence, item Number One on Tony’s mental list of priorities, and Tony sunk back into the old, familiar habit of fussing and worrying over Peter like he was dipping into a warm bath on a cold day. Fussing over his kid was as natural as breathing, and Tony sent his blessings out to the stars for the second chance.

_ He’s back, I love you, he’s back, I missed you. _

“Jesus, kid,” he said, soothing his hand along Peter’s arm, urging his kid back towards the couches he’d seen earlier, supporting Peter as much as his kid needed to when he stumbled along with Tony. “What the hell were you thinking, busting out of there when you’re injured?”

“I had to get to you,” Peter said, laying back on the couch with no argument. Tony’s chest squeezed, and he brushed his fingers along Peter’s cheek, kneeling in front of his beautiful, amazing kid. “‘m sick of all those stupid walls, Mr. Stark. You couldn’t hear me before.”

“Ominous,” Tony said, but he didn’t care. Fuck walls. Tony would get rid of every single wall on this planet, if Peter asked him to. “God, Peter. _ Pete. _ A whole year, bud. You were gone for a year.”

Tony’s eyes burned, taking in Peter anew (soft, dimpled cheeks and the laugh lines around his eyes), and Tony’s lashes dampened and stuck together. Peter was alive. Peter was alive, and wonderful, and everything Tony admired in the world.

_ I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m so sorry I didn’t say it before. _

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you, I’m _ sorry. _”

Tony raised up and ignored the protest in his knees. He scooped Peter’s face up in his hands and kissed his kid’s forehead, lingering on the warm skin and the tickle of Peter’s curls brushing along his jaw. _ So soft, so familiar, still smells like his favorite strawberry shampoo. _

“Not your fault,” Tony told him. Peter blinked tears out of his eyes, and Tony chased away every one with a gentle thumb. “_Never _ your fault. You’re just a stubbornly good kid who tried to do the right thing and the world punished you for it.” Punished all of them, because Peter got the easy way out. Tony had to live in the world without his heart and soul. “I just missed you.”

God, Tony had missed Peter like crazy. Missed his stupid memes and jokes and pop culture references, missed his blinding smile. Tony missed when the times when Peter got sleepy, and would lean against Tony with a tiny kitten yawn and insist he wasn’t tired until the soft snores were puffing out of him. Tony missed weekends spent with the kid in the lab, missed the way Peter’s tongue peeked out from his lips when he was focusing really hard on an equation. Tony missed his _ child_.

Peter (alive, breathing, has a heartbeat) sniffled, reaching his hands up to cover Tony’s. Gentle fingers squeezed Tony’s, and Tony’s gut twisted at the sight of his baby’s blood still lingering on his knuckles.

“Hey, let me see that hand, Underoos,” he insisted, taking his kid’s bloody hand in both of his and turning Peter’s hand over to inspect the damage. “You did a number on yourself, didn’t you?”

“‘s not easy to break out of an alternate dimension,” Peter said wryly, offering up a tiny, teasing smile. “Used all my strength.”

Tony’s eyes wandered away from Peter (he glanced back, still, terrified his son would vanish if he couldn’t see Peter in front of him) to look up at Strange and the woman. Strange’s face was unreadable as always, but the woman seemed nervous, full of unspoken tension.

“Can you bandage up his hand?” Tony asked. “Or get me some bandages to? Christ, you’re both medically trained, aren’t you? Why are you just standing there?”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter chided, “don’t snap at them. They saved my life.”

Instantly, Tony sobered. Strange was an asshole at the best of times, and grated on Tony’s nerves more than he’d care to admit, but if he’d saved Peter’s life, saved his son when he so easily could’ve lost him again… Tony sighed, and pressed another kiss to Peter’s forehead.

“Sorry,” he told Strange and the lady, only somewhat reluctant, because Tony was still pissed at Strange. “I didn’t mean to snap at you." 

Doesn't mean they didn't deserve it, though.

“It’s alright,” the lady said, stepping forward with the bandages. “You want to wrap up his hand?”

Tony shook his head, letting go of Peter’s hand semi-reluctantly, and only was okay with it because Peter had another uninjured hand Tony could grab. Peter offered his injured hand out to the woman with little fuss, and she began to clean up the abrasions which were much smaller than Tony had originally thought. Peter always had bled a lot, when he got cut.

"Sorry," Peter said to the woman. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

The woman smiled. "It's okay, Peter, I forgive you," she said, "I do mean what I said earlier about you taking it easy, though. No more punching your way out of pocket dimensions, okay?"

Peter huffed. "Don't stick me in them to begin with, then," he said, and Tony bit his cheek viciously to keep from laughing.

Nice to know the kid hadn't lost his snark.

Strange came over and sat in the chair opposite the couch. Tony’s eyes narrowed and he curled an arm around Peter’s shoulders. His kid sagged into his side automatically. Peter touched along the angry-red abrasion on his chest, and Tony smacked his hand away. Dutifully, Peter stopped picking at it.

“I’ll accept Peter as an apology,” Tony said to Strange. 

“I’m not apologizing,” Strange said.

“You should. I _ knew _ you had him, I saw—”

“What you saw was a poor-quality video,” Strange interrupted, “and pushed an image of the child you were mourning for onto it—”

“I wasn’t wrong though, was I?” Tony pointed out. Peter sighed against his side. (_He’s back, I love you, he’s back, I missed you._) “You’re just the asshole trying to hide him from me—”

“For good reason. There’s a number of variables about his return. We don’t even know who brought him back, it could be—”

“Who _fucking_ _cares?”_

Strange’s jaw set at Tony’s outburst. Tony turned to press his lips against Peter’s head, the familiar curls tickling along his nose and cheeks. Tony couldn’t stop kissing his son, couldn’t stop worshiping his baby. 

_ I’m so sorry I waited. _

“What matters is that he’s back,” Tony said, “and I’m taking him with me. No argument, end of discussion before the discussion can start because there's no discussion to even be had. Peter’s coming back with me, he’s going to reunite with his aunt and nerdy best friends, and we’re putting this whole shit show behind us.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” Strange said. Tony refused to look at the bastard. Yes, he knows it's not that simple, he knows its not over yet, but for one day, Tony would like to pretend. “He’s back from the dead after well over a year, people are going to question.”

Tony shook his head. “I’ll deal with it when it comes to that. Right now, all I care about is him.”

Him. Peter Parker. Peter, pause, Parker. Peter Benjamin Parker, and the way he breathes and speaks and smiles and lives so vibrantly. Tony bathed in the golden light, drowned in the love exploding in his chest where all had once been was an empty void. Peter’s name was a prayer his mind couldn’t stop whispering over and over, his whole body aching with _ Peter, Peter, Peter. _

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, craning his neck back. Tony’s eyes fluttered when Peter brushed away tears Tony hadn’t realized were falling. “It’s okay, it’s okay… I’m right here.”

“Right,” Tony said, sniffing sharply. Tears kept falling no matter how hard he fought against them. “You’re right here. You’re-you’re _ here._”

Tony pretended his voice didn’t crack.

Christine (Tony found her name out when Peter murmured his thanks to her) finished bandaging up Peter’s injured hand. Peter turned the second she was finished, wrapping strong arms around Tony, and for the first time since Peter exploded out of his glass prison, Tony thought the kid needed the touch just as much as Tony did himself.

Tony was only too happy to oblige, arms shaking with the weight of his universe as they held Peter.

“You should get him home,” Christine told Tony, and, fuck, finally someone who was speaking Tony’s language. Strange shot her a look, but Christine waved the wizard off. Tony watched with mild bemusement when Strange didn’t argue. He was reminded rather suddenly of himself and Pepper. “Bring him back for a check up in a few days, or I can come up to the compound.”

“Compound,” Tony said immediately. “I’m not— he’s—”

“Staying somewhere you can keep him safe,” Christine supplemented, smiling. “I get it, no worries.”

Tony nodded. He was breathless with excitement as he tapped on his glasses. “FRI, dear, you got a car headed our way?”

“_Yes, boss,_” FRIDAY said. “_One of the cars you kept in the city. ETA is two minutes._”

“Great,” he said. Two minutes. Two minutes and Tony can get out of this stupid sanctum and get his kid home safe and sound where Tony could bundle Peter up in two miles of bubble wrap and tell the world _ fuck you very much, you can’t have him anymore, he’s mine. _ “Tell Happy to pick up May. Bring her up to the compound ASAP.”

“_Yup._”

Peter muffled a sniffle against Tony’s chest, and Tony smoothed a hand along Peter’s back. Peter hated crying in front of people he scarcely knew, and Tony’s instincts screamed for him to get Peter out of there, somewhere safe where he could cry and scream and rage. He had every right to; Tony couldn’t fucking imagine how overwhelming this was for Peter. Tony was beyond relieved, but Peter was probably terrified.

“Come on, kiddo,” he urged softly, “we got a nice warm car headed our way. You wanna go back to the compound?” Instead of answering verbally, Peter nodded, fingers curling around Tony’s biceps a little too-tight, but Tony couldn’t care less. “Alright, kiddie, I got you. Come here, up you go.”

Peter’s spider DNA made him light. About eighty-pounds light, and Tony lifted more than eighty-pounds in the lab every day. Carrying Peter was carrying an extremely gangly eight year old, so Tony had no issue hefting his kid up off the couch. Peter went up easily, wrapping his legs around Tony’s hips, arms tightening around Tony’s neck.

“I got you,” he promised again, and dropped another kiss under Peter’s ear. Tony barely glanced at Christine and Strange as he hurried to get out, get Peter to safety, but he managed to say a cursory, “Thanks,” before he was out the door.

The sun was low in the sky, casting New York into dark amber shadows, and barely peeking through the heavy clouds hanging in the sky. Snow filtered through the dying rays, but Tony thought the world looked so much brighter than when he’d walked into the Sanctum blazing with hellfire.

“Cold,” Peter mumbled against his shoulder, and Tony rubbed his back, trying to create some friction to keep his kid warm for the last minute before their car arrived. “Wasn’t cold before.”

Before. Before, before, before. Before Octavius, before the world was ripped out from under Tony’s feet. August had been painfully warm, when Peter left. Then he returns to snow.

“I know, kiddie,” Tony whispered, “you were gone for a while.”

“What day is it?”

“December twenty-forth.”

Peter huffed. It was too sad to be a laugh, but not sad enough to be a whine. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “Am I your Christmas present then?”

Tony looked skyward. He wondered, for a moment, if there was a god. Tony wondered if today’s miracle was because they’d finally heard his desperate prayers.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “You’re my Christmas present. And you’re the best damn thing I ever could’ve received.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! they're back together again.
> 
> so sweet  
you're welcome
> 
> I got very emotional writing this ngl I just, YELLED and wrote 4k+ in one 3 hr sitting. so that's my life.
> 
> also, look at all those em dashes. im so self conscious bc kylee called me out (not rly) but like, em dashes. they're the crème de la crème of writing
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://aatticsaltt.tumblr.com/). I mean, if you want.


	4. oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oops

Hey guys. I know this isn't the update the few of you still around were hoping for, but I've got to put this fic officially on a permanent hiatus.

I know I don't necessarily have to explain myself, but I wanted to let you guys know why I was stopping. Writing this story had been very draining for me from the start. I'm in the thick of my college career, my mental health has gone to shit, and Endgame had really killed a lot of my motivation to write fanfictions for Marvel anyway.

(Plus now I'm neck deep in Percy Jackson. Help.)

In any case, I'm leaving what I have up for anyone who wishes to still read it. I apologize for not being able to follow it through; I hope you'll still enjoy what there is. 

Just know, it would've been a happy ending. Our boys deserved that much.

Thank you for the love and support you've sent so far! Maybe one day I'll be able to return, but as it stands, this story will remain as is. (If a little bit incomplete.)


End file.
